“I doubt it,” Roderick quipped. “You will always worry about them. It is in your nature, and one of the many reasons I admire you.”
“You do not mind having married into such a tiresome brood?”
He shook his head, his gaze soft as he met her eyes. “I love your family. And considering how things have been going with Wright…it is more than I could have hoped for.”
“You do not feel overwhelmed?” Emma asked, concern in her tone.
He smiled. “To the contrary. I feel overjoyed.”
Emma bit her bottom lip before she replied. “Well, there will soon be someone new to fuss over.”
His eyes darkened and his hand stilled over her hip. They were the only indications he heard her. As he stared at her in the silence of their bedroom, she watched his face, waiting for the moment when his clever brain would accept the meaning of her words. When his silence continued, amusement chased away her anxiety and a grin widened her mouth.
“Someone new?” he asked dumbly.
“Yes,” she said quietly, “someone brand-new.”
He closed his eyes for a second. Then the hand at her hip curled around behind her back and he drew her to him across the bed until her breasts and belly were flush against him. Rolling over her, he pinned her beneath him, settling his strong legs between hers as he held himself up on his elbows and looked intently into her face.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you,” she replied.
Then he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply.
Whatever life had in store for their future, they would manage it together. As a family.
Read on for a sneak peek at the next book in the Fallen Ladies series
Prologue
London, 1812
The young, elegantly dressed gentleman sat in the darkness of his carriage, deftly turning a snuffbox over and over in his fingers. Every now and then, he looked out the window at the building across the street. This was his third night coming to this spot. On each of the prior evenings, he had not been able to convince himself to leave the vehicle.
Tonight he was resolute.
He had heard much about Madam Pendragon’s Pleasure House. It was reputed to offer an extensive array of sexual diversions to anyone with the means to afford the exclusive rate and the proper sponsorship. Aside from the services provided by the ladies of the establishment—and more pertinent to his needs—was the fact that Pendragon was known to enforce strict rules of discretion for her clients’ protection.
Discretion was vital to his purpose. Without a guarantee his activities would be kept entirely in secret, he would never consider becoming a client of the high-class bordello.
As he sat slightly hunched in the darkness, maneuvering the snuffbox in a constantly rolling pattern through his fingers, he acknowledged the restlessness traveling through him, like constantly shifting desert sands. It made his skin itch and his blood thrum through his veins. The agitation would only continue to increase.
He could not go on in this manner much longer. He understood that much at least, even if he was at a disastrous loss as to how to rectify his situation.
But that was why he was here. He intended to seek Pendragon’s assistance.
If he could just bring himself to leave his carriage.
With a growl of frustration, he curled his fist around the snuffbox and jammed it into his coat pocket. Allowing no further thought, he unfolded his lean body and pushed through the carriage door to the pavement. He crossed the silent street in long strides and took two steps at a time up to the door. A short, heavy knock prompted its opening.
After producing the required letter of reference, he was immediately shown to a private sitting room. For once, he was grateful for the air of entitlement he had inherited from a long aristocratic line. His wealth and social standing were ever apparent in his manner and bearing. The deference he was afforded had never been as welcome as it was tonight as he waited for Madam Pendragon in solitude.
The woman arrived within a few minutes.
She was much younger than he had expected—perhaps in her midtwenties. Certainly not many years older than himself. Blond and rather pretty if not for the assessing way she observed him as she crossed the threshold into the room. She was gowned in flashing red satin. Her figure was lush and rounded and her smile, when she finally displayed it, held within its curves a wealth of knowledge and mystique.
It was this woman’s reported knowledge that had brought him to her door.
“My lord,” she said in a velvety tone. “It is a pleasure and delight to have you visit my modest establishment. Please take a seat. Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you,” he replied. “I do not drink in company.”